Sweet Agony (Sweet Series Book 1) (8 page)

“Thought about this a lot, have you?”

Olivia leaned in until we were almost nose to nose. “I don’t need to think about it, Ginny. When have you ever stuck up for yourself to prove to them you aren’t an easy target? Hmm? Maybe in second grade when Rachel stole your doll from you, and you wouldn’t tell her fourth grade teacher? Or how about in fifth grade when she dumped the blue paint all over your art project so it was ruined? Better yet, how about five minutes ago when she rubbed it in your face in front of half of our school that she’s been in my brother’s pants just because she knows that’s where you want to be?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, to say something, anything, but as usual, nothing came out. My shoulders slumped a little bit as the truth pulverized me. I was a wimp, a weenie, that proverbial sidewalk the jerks in this high school walked all over because they knew I wouldn’t defend myself. And I was damn tired of it!

It was bad enough I got picked on for being quiet, a nerd, or whatever perceived infraction they could find wrong with me. Then all those high-handed snobs decided to pick on me since they figured out my feelings for Lucas.

Olivia took one look at my trembling lips and watery eyes, and I watched as the anger melted right off her face to be replaced by sympathy. She reached over to the sink, grabbed a paper towel, and then wiped the tears from my face.

With a soft but firm voice, she continued, “You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve met in my whole life, Ginny, and on days like today, that’s a serious disadvantage. Don’t mistake being a nice person for being a pushover, girl, or you’re going to be trampled to death in life. Grow a backbone and show that bitch Rachel that, when she messes with you, she has messed with the wrong person.”

After I gave Olivia a nod, she handed the paper towel to me and took a step back.

“All right, girl, I’m going to give you a minute to fix your face, and then we can hit the vending machines to grab something to eat. I’ll be right outside the bathroom door if you need me.” With that, my best friend left me alone.

Turning my head, I took a look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t wear much makeup, because my mom always told me I was a “natural beauty” and didn’t need it, but I did wear a little. The tear streaks over my cheeks had ruined my foundation, but thankfully, I wore waterproof mascara, so I didn’t look like a scary raccoon girl.

Walking over to one of the sinks, I wet the paper towel, added a little soap, and then washed off what was left of my foundation.

While I washed my face, Olivia’s words resonated in my mind. She was right; I had not defended myself from the likes of Rachel, ever. Because of that, there I was, hiding out in the bathroom like some sort of reject.

I had done a lot of hiding in my life, more than anyone else. Heck, my mom and I were both still hiding from our past. It was the only way to keep us safe from the person who might kill us after we had run from him.

Did I really want to hide out more, especially from the likes of Rachel? Was I really going to let her control my life like that? I was already being controlled by a man I could barely remember yet had enough nightmares about to never forget how dangerous he was.

Rachel was nowhere near as scary as I remembered that man being. She was merely a spoiled girl who fed off other people’s misery. Was I really going to give her the chance to make me miserable for the rest of our high school years, or was I going to finally put my foot down and stick up for myself?

With a final swipe of the paper towel over my face, I stared at my own eyes in the mirror and made my decision. There were some problems you ran from because you were not strong enough to defeat them, and then there were other problems that you squashed.

I was going to squash Rachel like a bug.

Throwing my paper towel in the trash, I marched out of the bathroom and past Olivia, who immediately started to follow me.

“You’ve got this look on your face I’ve never seen before. Please tell me you’re about to go punch that bitch in the face.”

I shook my head. “No punching.”

My best friend sighed. “You always take away my fun. It would’ve been nice to see someone knock that girl out and mess up her pretty, little face.”

Looking up at the clock in the hallway, I saw that lunch would end in three minutes. I had to hurry if I was going to do what I wanted to do, which was my own way of messing the pretty, little Rachel up.

“Hurry up, Olivia. We’ve got to catch her before she leaves the cafeteria, or my plan won’t work.”

Jogging down the hall, we raced to the cafeteria door. My heart started beating like a jackhammer in my chest, and I had to wipe my sweaty hands on my jean skirt before I grabbed the cafeteria door handle to pull it open. I was sort of scared shitless of what I was about to do, but if I didn’t stick up for myself now, I never would. I refused to let someone like Rachel ruin my life when I had bigger skeletons in my closet to be afraid of.

The loud cafeteria fell under a strange hush when I entered. The kids who saw me pointed me out to the other kids who hadn’t noticed. Before I made it ten steps into the large room, I seemed to have everyone’s attention, including a smirking Rachel who turned to her friends and loudly said, “Aww … Look, girls, she’s done crying already. You think she finally realized Lucas would never want a freak like her?”

Ignoring her verbal jab, I eyed her immaculate and, more than likely, expensive outfit: white, off the shoulder, silk shirt; a pair of black leggings; and designer heels. Rachel might not care about school, but everyone knew she loved her clothes.

Walking straight to her table where she was sitting on the end with a new lunch tray, I saw it was filled with spaghetti and a can of diet soda.

Awesome. That meant I had ammunition for my attack.

Without saying a word, I stopped, grabbed her food tray and her open can of soda in each of my hands, and before Rachel had time to so much as move a muscle, I flung the spaghetti off her tray and onto the front of her shirt.

She stood up in an enraged gasp, and that was when I turned her can of soda upside down over her head, pouring the drink all over her perfectly done hair.

“Now you look sloppy enough to go along with that blow job Lucas mentioned. If you’re going to act like a whore, you should probably clean up your looks and your skills.”

After a few seconds of silent surprise, the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter. I could vaguely hear an adult shouting my name through the racket, but I was too busy smiling at Rachel, who was shrieking and sputtering nonsense as she stomped from the cafeteria, to care.

It wasn’t until I heard Lucas’s angry shout that I took my eyes off Rachel’s retreating form and turned my head to see him standing up, dripping wet, and a water bottle in Olivia’s hand as he yelled at his sister, “What the hell, Olivia?”

She shrugged. “I just didn’t want Ginny to go to detention alone.” She turned her head to look at me and winked.

As I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle my laughter, Lucas took one look between the two of us and snarled, “I’m telling Mom about this, you little shit.”

Sometimes, revenge wasn’t a dish; it was a cold drink poured over the head.

Chapter

7

Lucas

Nineteen Years Old

After I turned eighteen and graduated high school, I left for the Army. Following my dream and partying with the men I served with left little time to think about the shy, pretty, awkward, underage girl I had left back home except when I got those few solitary moments before I crashed. Then it seemed I had all the time in the world, and my only thoughts would be of her.

Late at night, when I lay in my barrack’s room, unable to sleep, my mind would drift to Ginny. Sometimes, I would lie there and re-read all of the letters she had sent me. The one I found myself going to the most was, in turn, the least serious. It also made my mind drift to Ginny all dressed up in the picture she sent me later.

Lucas,

I hope this letter finds you seeing the world or at least the Army’s version of it. Today, your mom made cookies for the marching band bake sale. Olivia and I snuck an extra one each and ate it for you. Noah made drum major, so he’s made sure each of us helped raise money for new uniforms.

Your dad is so proud of you that he’s decided he will mow the grass this summer instead of your brothers. Your mom came outside with a glass of lemonade, and for a brief moment, I thought he might run into the Whitmore’s bushes. I guess the men in the Young family are easily distracted.

I applied for the summer art program. Mom says, if I don’t get in, she will still load me up with supplies. It’s not new water colors I want, though; it’s the chance to try new techniques. What do parents understand, anyway?

Olivia is ready to go shopping for homecoming dresses. It’s still months away. You know her, though. She doesn’t want to wait until the last minute and not have the best selection. I’ll be sure to send pictures.

All my love,

Ginny

I worried the time apart would mean Ginny would move on from her obsession with me. We weren’t ready; I knew that. Still, the what if’s kept taunting me. I had a plan. However, I constantly feared that, because I had not told her I already considered her mine, she would move on to some other schmuck.

The thought of a fumbling idiot touching her nearly drove me to insanity whenever my doubts arose. It was hypocritical of me for sure, since I was now fucking my way through the base, much like I had done in high school. The more I found release, the more pent up frustrations would build inside me that it wasn’t Ginny.

Of course, at nineteen, nothing about my conflicted emotions had changed. All of my fantasies starred one blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl on the cusp of becoming a woman, one who was still not ready for me.

On Christmas Eve, I headed home for my first visit since joining the Army. Part of me started to wonder if maybe I should tell her how I felt, but the issue of her still being underage quickly killed that idea. I had more at stake now with being legal and having a career. Even if I told her she would be mine without touching her, I didn’t need anyone to make assumptions. Plus, I was trying to give her time to be Ginny. My gut screamed at me that she wasn’t ready for the white picket fence I had once overheard her telling my sister she wanted so badly.

The present I had bought for her practically burned a hole in my pocket as I tried to picture what the look on her face would be when I gave it to her. I might have to leave the girl who was made for me behind, but I would make sure to leave a piece of me with her.

My attempts to distract myself from those thoughts didn’t work well, though. In fact, I was so lost in my head about what I wanted to do versus what I needed to do that the cab driver had to tell me three times that my ride was over, which made me feel like a fucking idiot since we were sitting in my parents’ driveway.

By the time I got to the front door, I was damn near fretting like a little, old lady. Even the warm hugs of my family members, the familiar sights of all of my mom’s Christmas decorations, and the smell of home cooked food didn’t help. I felt wired to the max, yet I did my best to hide it. The last thing I needed was for any of them to catch on to the fact that I wasn’t myself and ask me why.

I wouldn’t be able to give them the truth, which would sound something like,
“Because I’m in love with an underage girl, and it makes me feel like a pervert since I want nothing more than to take her to my bed and fuck her out of my system with her ankles up by my ears while I make the headboard slam against the wall. And eventually, I’ll get around to telling her I’ve been in love with her since I was sixteen.”

I wouldn’t need my family to beat me bloody for saying something like that; I would kick my own ass for it.

After getting through dinner and catching up with what all of my siblings had been up to, I headed to my old room to try to catch some shut eye. That didn’t work out too well for me, and I ended up spending most of the night staring at my ceiling. Then I spent half of Christmas Day sneaking glances at the front door, waiting for Ginny to show up. She and her mom always came over to spend part of the day with us.

On pins and needles, my stomach was half in knots that my worst fears had come to pass. What if she hadn’t shown up yet because she was at some schmuck’s house, spending the day with him? That dour thought led to me daydreaming about going over to said schmuck’s house and ripping him limb from limb before throwing Ginny over my shoulder, caveman style.

When our doorbell finally rang, I somehow managed to keep myself from jumping up and running to the door. It took every ounce of willpower I had, but I managed to keep myself seated on the living room couch while my brother answered the door. That didn’t mean I wasn’t holding my breath while waiting for her entrance.

Then, when she finally appeared in the entrance of the living room, smiling nervously, it took everything in me not to drop my jaw open in shock.

Ginny had on so much makeup she looked like she was auditioning for the job of a hooker! I might have blown it off as a girl who liked her cosmetics a little too much and was trying to come into her own; except, Olivia busted her by asking why she had makeup on at all.

She quickly cut her eyes in my direction, and a bright red blush spread from her cheeks to her neck. My mother instantly admonished Olivia for what she had said, and my sister apologized then tried to play the whole thing off as she gave her friend a hug, during which my girl tried to momentarily hide her face behind the shoulder of her taller best friend, presumably so I couldn’t see her.

Rather than feeling bad for Ginny, though, a smile spread over my face, and when Ginny saw that smile, she blushed a little more in apparent mortification. I sort of felt bad for making her feel worse, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face for one simple reason: my girl still wanted me.

I didn’t have a thing in the world to worry about.

Ginny

Sixteen Years Old

Could a hole open up in the floor and swallow me now, please?